


this house is sad because he's not in it

by crickets



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crickets/pseuds/crickets





	this house is sad because he's not in it

Even in the three years away from the island, Jack never truly had a chance to feel the absence of his father.

Now, standing before his little sister in this full and empty jungle, yards between them, he sees it like this gaping hole that it is. This secret kept, a daughter, a sister. Daddy took it, _and her_ , to his grave.

"You're so much like him," she says, a palm on his cheek. Jack doesn't ask her how she could possibly know that.

"And you're not," he tells her. It's true. The touch of Christian Shephard is a mark you bear upon your soul, a darkness that can be seen in your eyes. Claire doesn't carry that burden. Never has. She is herself again, and Jack can see that clearly now.

She turns away, eyes cast down.

"It's a compliment, Claire," he assures her.

She smiles a moment, shyly, looks up. "Come with me," she urges.

He reaches for her outstretched hand.

\--

The truth is that survival on the island isn't all that difficult, after the end of everything, after the "magic" is gone.

Claire's the one who calls it that: Magic.

Jack scoffs. He doesn't know what he'd call it. But certainly not that. Still, he rolls the word over in his mind, and it makes him think of the stories Claire might have told her son before tucking him into bed.

 _If only._

"There's nothing to be done, Jack," Claire tells him, as though she can sense what he is thinking. Truth is, most days she can.

This is different from the murderous and vengeful mother. This is sense talking. This is someone at ease -- someone who's had time to get used to the idea.

"I know," Jack says, even though he himself hasn't gotten used to it. The regret builds up behind his throat, choking him.

He coughs.

 _How could he have left her there?_

\--

Jack remembers the first time Claire kisses him.

She's counting scars, cool fingertips over hot skin one night. A ritual she began long ago. She rolls him over, pushing the fraying cotton shirt over his chest and back, taking silent inventory. She moves meticulously over his shoulders, belly, knees, the backs of his calves, even examines his scalp as best she can.

"Forty-three," she proclaims proudly, sliding off of him and to the pallet at his side.

"Is that all?" Jack asks, surprised.

"We can count again tomorrow," she tells him. "I'm tired now."

"And there will be more tomorrow," he promises, as he always does. It is simply the perils of living in the jungle.

"You're sure there are none that I missed?" Claire teases, a hand brushing over the last remaining fabric covering his body.

Jack catches her wrist, laughs, tells her no. He twines his fingers with hers for a moment, and then falls suddenly grave.

Claire catches the look, her blue eyes as clear as the first day they met.

"Maybe one more," he tells her slowly, moves their hands over his chest. "Here."

She kisses him then. Not on the mouth at first, but on the knuckles, and then the spot next to his heart, the one with the invisible scar, and then his lips, full and firm.

It is a decidedly un-sibling-like kiss, and when Claire's tongue brushes against his, Jack thinks he's been so long on this island that he simply can't be bothered to care anymore.

"Me too," she tells him, and Jack's not sure whether she's responding to his words or his thoughts.

Claire kisses him again, _an answer._

 _It's both._

"Me too."

 _-fin_


End file.
